Hello everyone!
Before leaving to your readings, I want to thank you immensely for all your support and reviews! Thanks a lot! You are truly amazing!
I hope you enjoy this chapter, sorry if I'm posting it a little later than usual! I've been lazy ... no excuses!
Until next time,
Love,
M.
P.s.
If you notice any major misspellings or don't know ... made-up verbs ... please tell me so I can fix the text for you all! Thanks to the ones who helped in this sense with the last chapter lol I owe you, big time!
Chapter 8: Riddikulus
There was something disorienting and straight up surreal about watching one's memories through other people's eyes.
It was less about just remembering a certain event and more about having to relive said event while also dealing with the observer's feelings about it.
The angle was different too, not quite right, as if it were slightly shifted, it allowed a wider view, which was somehow disturbing in a sense. Not pleasant at all.
It could be overwhelming for a beginner, especially if the beginner had a history of not being able to deal with his own feelings in general.
Tom could barely distinguish one from another on his best days… and this… this was all too much…
"You're doing it again, Riddle, focus."
He couldn't do it… couldn't possibly concentrate on compartmentalizing, not like that.
"Shut the fuck up, you're distracting me."
"Don't you blame me… You're doing a fine job with that yourself... just push me out already!"
Tom glared, pressure surely wasn't helping.
The more he feared being laid bare, the more anxious he grew to occlude, the less his thoughts would let themselves be gathered neatly behind his walls… which only fueled more anger making the whole process more complex.
"Anger again… you're on a damn roll with all of these feelings… focus!"
DamnFuckShit…
He was trying. He really was.
A new memory begun taking shape though and his focus dissolved as he found himself staring at a very young version of himself.
Young-Tom was huddled on the steps of the orphanage, his face contracted in the effort to hold back the tears blurring his vision.
Young-Tom's lower lip was split. There was an angry bite mark on his arm. His shirt was torn. The delicate skin of his face was red and scraped from all the rubbing of the monster's stubble.
Tom knew that the only reason young-Tom hadn't ran further away was the blind pain in his cracked ribs.
He knew how every step from the storage closet to those damned steps, had made his lungs burn as if he had been trying to breathe in needles and pins instead of oxygen.
He could almost feel it all over again.
The memory was extremely vivid, indelibly engraved in his brain in every painful detail, enriched with someone else's concern about what would happen next, which was hella distracting right now.
He tried diverting his gaze from himself and focusing again.
Focus. Focus. Ffffu… Focus!
The whole landscape flickered and the scene blurred.
Tom heard himself groan, he could feel the vein in his temple throb under his skin.
He pushed and pushed the thoughts in the far back.
A static buzz was humming in his ears. His jaw clenched so tight it hurt.
Just a bit more. Just…
His stomach folded in on itself as he heard the orphanage door creak open and his walls crumbled just like that. The scene now bright and vivid before his eyes.
Martha was staring at him, her cheeks were flushed as she fidgeted under the threshold.
God, he hated her, he hated her with all his might, hated her voice, her stupid accent, her incompetence and ignorance, her very essence.
Tom wished he could just slap her asinine face and get some payback for his torments, present and past ones.
"If only our Lawd would call upon you once an 'faw all an' let 'you res' in piece, Rob Roy ..." She sighed.
Funny how that was the greatest display of compassion Martha was probably capable of, at least when it came to Tom.
Perhaps even funnier, was the fact that Tom's compassion bar was set so low before Hermione existed, that Martha's wishing for his death had sounded almost comforting to his child self, it was painfully obvious in the way his features relaxed into blissful awe at the mention of some sort of 'Lord' who could have felt generous enough to put an end to his sufferings.
"He's not done wiv yer, yer Demon Rob Roy."
Young Tom frowned slightly and lost control over his tears. He spilled a couple of fat ones and rushed to wipe them away from his red cheeks, sniffling loudly.
His small shoulders sagged in resignation as Martha approached slowly.
"'E is pissed ou' ov 'is mind" She informed him, slipping her hands under his armpits to try and lift him up on his feet.
Child-Tom bit his already split lip and squeezed his eyes shut, mentally praying to turn into a heavy boulder.
"Riddle, focus." Tom whirled around to see Walburga staring at him from the orphanage courtyard.
Fuck, right. How long had he let her just stand there and watch? He tightened his grip on his wand.
FocusFocusFo…
Tom saw Martha effortlessly get ahold of little Tom and drag him back inside.
His mind moved to follow before he could help it, deaf to his groaning and growling.
Blind rage descended upon his eyes in the form a thin red veil as he realized where the memory was going, he was leading Walburga exactly where he wished she wouldn't have access.
"Riddle, Merlin, occlude ... occlude now." Walburga's voice had grown noticeably frantic.
"Fuck, I'm trying! I'm trying... shut up, relax and lemme… JUST LET HIM GO!" Tom's thoughts were only getting more tangled with the girl's growing agitation.
He barely even noticed himself snapping at the Martha from his memories.
"RIDDLE"
"I'MFUCKINGTRYING"
"ARE NOT"
"IAM!"
Several more memories started flashing before his eyes, glitching in with the one Walburga was currently drowning them into.
Dennis was carving something in his back with a blade, it made an odd sound when it cut through the skin on his spine and Tom felt sick in his stomach, or Walburga did, he wasn't sure anymore.
Donald kicked a dead rat, the hideous carrion bounced against Tom's shoes and white greasy maggots rolled out of it, young-Tom doubled over and threw up. Donald grinned.
Amy was screaming at him, throwing things at him, he didn't want to sleep with the boys, he wanted to sleep with her, but she just wouldn't have it. "What in the bloody hell is going on up there?", Tom saw Amy's eyes widen at the sound of Mr. Wool's voice, a slow grin spreading on her lips.
"Please… don't."
Tom knew he must have been drenched in sweat by now, he could feel it drip down his back, his hair were completely soaked and it was getting cold, so cold.
"Try harder, Riddle, focus, Merlin! I don't… How do I get out?! Let me out!"
"The… fuck… wait… I just… I'm trying… I can do it… IcandoitIcandoit!" But he couldn't, could he? Seconds ago she had been barely brushing the surface of his mind, and now? They had plunged in deeper than he thought even possible.
He was getting too distracted maybe he should've just…
The metallic sound of a belt buckle struck his eardrum and Tom went limp.
"What made you think we were done, Tommy?" rotten teeth, the familiar stench of cheap alcohol, "Lock the door, Tommy."
That nickname sent a shiver down Tom's back.
Mr. Wool had both thumbs tucked into the waistband of his trousers and Tom started hyperventilating.
"Come here, Tommy."
"Back off, Black." Tom ordered, unable to take his eyes off the scene that Walburga was desperately trying not to look at instead.
"Riddle, please, please, focus!"
"No ... I can't! Fuck, I can't! Back off!"
"YOU ARE NOT EVEN TRYING!"
"GET OUT!"
"I WOULD IF I COULD!"
"Open up, Tommy."
"I SAID GET OUT OF MY HEAD!"
"Tommy."
"OCCLUDE IT FOR SALAZAR SAKE!"
"STUPEFY!"
Tom heaved a sigh so deep that he thought he'd blow his lungs out.
For a while the only sound in the room was their heavy breathing as Tom recovered from the shock and panic and Walburga from the impact of the stunner, which had barely hit her, but still hard enough to bring her to her knees.
"Are you joking? You just stupefied my arse, Riddle…"
"You left me no choice."
"As if I had any control over my own invasion… I don't know how easy it is for you to get in and out of other people's minds, but I assure you, is no walk in the park for me… how did I even get that far?!"
Tom shrugged and took off his shirt. He rolled his eyes when the older girl widened hers.
"Not trying to woo you, I'm bloody drenched…" he laughed using the shirt to dab the sweat from his neck and then dropping it on a chair nearby, "Are you ok? Can you stand?"
"Don't need to take off your shirt to woo me, Riddle, there's enough emotional trauma in that outrageously handsome head of yours that even I wouldn't mind play nurse with you… though the nurse I have in mind is slightly different from Rosier's… is she still playing the naïve innocent best friend thing? Is it working?"
She accepted his hand and let herself be pulled back to her feet.
"It is, isn't it? You do have a soft spot for the innocent looking ones, don't you?" She grinned, he ignored her, "So, how come a natural Legilimens sucks so much at Occlumency?" She asked lifting the hem of her skirt to gauge the severity of a small scrape on her left knee.
"Bites me…" Tom threw his wand on a desk and stretched the tense muscles of his neck and shoulders.
"Well, figure it out, I don't particularly enjoy going through your horrible Muggle childhood."
Walburga licked a finger and used her spit to get rid of the small blood droplets smudged around the tiny cut on her knee. She hissed quietly, then seemed to decide it wasn't that big of a deal and dropped her skirt.
"I didn't enjoy the sight of your uncle exploring your knickers either, but you don't see me complaining that much, do you?"
Walburga made a face and went to sit on the desk where they had left the pitcher of pumpkin juice and the chocolate.
Tom nodded briefly when she gestured to his empty glass.
"So, has no one else made any progress with Leglimancy? One'd think at least Nott would have figured it out by now… the swot."
"Only you so far… Guess this is the price to pay for having brilliant mind. Suck it up." Tom smiled accepting the juice and chugging it enthusiastically.
Some of the liquid escaped the corners of his lips and ran down his chin.
He pretended not to notice Walburga's eyes following the drops down his throat, just as she had pretended not to see his eyes go up her legs just before.
"Well ... hopefully, it'll be worth it… can't promise not to curse your arse if you hit me again though."
Tom lifted an eyebrow at her words, but did not deign her foolish threat with any more than that. Walburga blushed a little and busied herself with drinking some more of her juice.
"I just don't get why it is that I can't block it… I mean I can literally see the reverse mechanism when I enter other people's minds… it looks extremely easy… yet…"
"It may be your emotions, Riddle, they're all over the place… oh don't give me the 'sexy Riddle glare'. I'm just saying it as I see it. Whenever I manage to breach through the surface, it's… overwhelming… you may blame my feelings meddling in with yours, though I swear… yours are way too intense… no half measures in there. It's a lot to take in, I can't imagine trying to focus in that raging mess of emotions..."
Tom sucked on his lower lip and held Walburga's gaze.
"So, what would you suggest?"
She shrugged a shoulder and resumed.
"Perhaps you could focus on… a smaller goal? If you can't completely hide all of your thoughts, you could try selecting them first. Like ... allow the intrusion but in selected and well-defined areas."
"Smaller goals… I don't know… seems like we're deliberately making it harder than it should be. It should come just as easy as…"
"Oh, poor Riddle," She snarled, cutting him off, "Something doesn't come naturally to him right away! Wouldn't want to be the one breaking it to you, but you're human too, you know? You too, are going to have to actually make an effort to learn something new every now and then."
Tom scoffed.
Truth was, Walburga's wasn't such a terrible idea… it did bother him to no end admitting it, but it might have led somewhere indeed.
He could've started smaller, then move on to work on improving his overall control.
Perhaps, he could set a series of intermediary steps, break the process down in even smaller steps if he needed…
This was not at all disappointing and frustrating as hell, he scowled at his own eagerness.
If only he could've found a way to ask Hermione. After all, he had never been able to peek inside her head, and not for lack of trying. Perhaps she could've even guided him through the whole process. She was obviously quite good at Occluding her own thoughts and she'd never deny him knowledge… would she?
Tom exhaled, snorting softly.
Sure, ask Hermione, so she can be reminded once again of how Leglimancy has been the main cause of the 'Cave'.
The last thing he wanted was for her to think about that one Summer... especially now that things between them seemed to be changing and drifting in a new exciting direction. Especially now, that they were so uncertain about everything and assessing their new dynamics.
He surely didn't want to remind her of his 9-year-old self, not when she finally seemed to be noticing the shortening of their age and physical span… not when she would have spent the summer away from him and… with that fucker…
No.
He would've figured it out himself. Hopefully, it wouldn't have taken too long either.
Tom sighed and stirred his thoughts back to Walburga's suggestion.
He needed to start testing her theory and training asap.
If someone as inexperienced as Walburga was already able to mess with him, albeit only occasionally being able to dig that deep and completely unintentionally, Tom dreaded at the thought of what someone as good as himself might have been able to do with the things inside his head.
"Where was Professor Granger?" Walburga asked, shaking him from his reasoning.
"What do you mean?"
"Why could those slimy Muggles torture you undisturbed, where was Granger? Didn't you grow up with her?"
"Where were your parents when your uncle was rummaging through your underwear?"
If that had been Rosier, Tom might have expected tears. Walburga huffed a laugh, and looked away.
Tom didn't like sharing things about himself and, as much as he was concerned, he and Walburga had already grown closer than he was comfortable with.
It was inevitable with all that entering each other's minds, but it didn't mean he liked it. Why would he have wanted to share even more and when it wasn't strictly necessary nonetheless…?
Although, if he had to be fair, Walburga had proved to be a loyal and reliable ally up until now.
She hadn't snitched on him once, not even when he had nearly snapped her wrist in the heat of chasing her out from a particularly nasty memory involving a butcher, a piece of chicken and a particularly sharp billhook.
Tom sighed.
"She wasn't in the picture… wasn't there yet." He said, forcing the words out of his teeth.
The older girl nodded and started braiding her black curls, lazily twisting them between her long fingers.
Her nails were painted red, he didn't like it.
Tom didn't like it when girls painted their fingers.
Hermione never did.
Her hands were always clean, her nails where short and neat, slightly almond shaped.
If he asked nicely enough, she'd use them to scratch his back and the nape of his neck while he read to her. Utter bliss.
"So what happened to the old arse then?" asked Walburga, curling the corner of her lips into a half smile when she saw Tom do the same.
"Well… she did come into the picture eventually..." Tom said unable to hide his smugness, "She took care of him… of all of them actually."
"Cheers to our badass professor then!" Walburga raised her glass and Tom copied the movement.
"What about your uncle?" He asked, realizing this sharing-thing was probably supposed to go both ways.
The smile faded from Walburga's lips and she put on her tough mask again.
"Oh, Riddle, haven't you noticed? They do look quite alike…"
Tom scrunched his nose up in a disgusted grimace and Walburga barked a bitter laugh.
"Orion's father?"
"Ladies and gentlemen, the father-in-law!"
Walburga cackled, Tom diverted his gaze, finding nothing funny in that depressing statement. Was there anyone with a normal family among the people he knew?
"So, Riddle ... are you putting your shirt back on or is this my lucky day? Am I allowed to play nurse? Cheer you up a little?"
Tom blinked quickly, taken aback by the sudden change of topic.
"Uh ... what do I see there? Are you perhaps considering…?"
"Oh, Black... not in the slightest." He muttered handing her his empty glass back and taking a few steps away from the girl.
"Well if it is Orion you're worried about, you should know he wouldn't care." Walburga put down the glass and leaned back, propping herself of her hands and letting her legs dangle off the desk, spreading them slightly.
"Believe me, Black, if I wanted to take what you're kindly offering, Orion would be the least of my thoughts."
"I like the cheekiness... I gather you won't take what I'm kindly offering though, will you? Are you saving yourself for the teacher or… something? She not good at sharing?"
Tom shrugged and watched raptly as Walburga hopped off the desk and approached with slow steps, her hands behind her back. Such a Slytherin.
She came to stand in front of him, a dimple in her cheek, a defiant expression on her delicate face.
"You like my legs, Riddle, I saw it ... inside that head of yours..." Walburga didn't dare touch him but her eyes kept dropping on his lips and lower, on his chest.
She was close. Close enough for Tom to notice that her eyes were so many more shades of blue than he had ever counted.
He curled his lips into a smirk.
"Didn't need to bother with my thoughts, you could've just asked. I'm not blind. I still think I will decline your offer though, and it is the last time I'm telling you nicely, Black."
Walburga hesitated just a second more then she took one last step, walking into the solid heat standing between them, regardless of his warnings, amused by his obvious surprise at her impudence and cheek.
The tips of their shoes were touching.
Tom's mouth went dry and his resolve begun faltering at her proximity.
She was tall, much taller than Hermione was, he noticed.
Their lips were so close that Tom couldn't have licked his without licking hers.
Her eyes searched his.
"Why? I've seen you flirt around, you have a small army of girls waiting for nothing else but for you to stretch your hand and take them… yet you never do… 'f it makes you feel any better, I'm not fishing for a betrothal. I have one. We can lick each other's wounds…" She whispered, her upper lip brushing his with the motion, "I won't tell if you won't."
Tom gulped and his eyes betrayed him slipping on Walburga's red luscious lips, not for long, but long enough for her to take it as an encouragement.
Walburga leaned in slowly and bit his lower lip. She tugged it twice and sucked it between hers, trying to coerce a response.
Something at the base of Tom's belly tingled and twisted when her tongue poked out to taste him, and he was surprised to find that the low, deep, primitive growl he could hear filling the room, was coming from the back of his very own throat.
Walburga responded with a soft encouraging moan that sent Tom's every nerve ablaze.
All he knew was, one moment he'd been on the verge of moving away from her, and the next Walburga was pressed between himself and the wall, her legs wrapped around his waist, her hands tied around his neck and his hands ... they were all over the place.
Pulling, brushing, cupping.
She was warm. Fuck. She was burning and pressing against him in all the right places.
She wouldn't resist him, she wanted him.
Hermione will never want you like this.
The thought came before he could avoid it. A punch in the stomach would have hurt less.
Tom squeezed his eyes shut and tried to enjoy the hungry lips sucking at his neck, the eager fingers pulling at his hair.
She will never… never touch you like that… never… how could she?
Walburga moaned loudly and plunged her tongue in his mouth. Tom pushed against her, grinding against her stomach and shivering at the friction.
His whole body was burning, hurting with need… yet something wasn't… quite right.
Do you think she would ever want to touch you like that? A little voice in the back of his head mocked.
The pitcher of pumpkin juice exploded loudly. Walburga burst into a short euphoric laugh, oblivious to his train of thoughts and probably convinced his arousal had caused the explosion.
Tom broke the next kiss and took a deep breath, blinking fiercely in an attempt to regain lucidity.
Bergamot.
Black smelled of bergamot, sweat and something bitter, something citrusy.
Tom froze, his next breath stuck in his throat.
What was he doing? This… he didn't want this.
There was no smell of jasmine, no honey, no sweetness. There were no golden doe eyes to get lost into, no heart-shaped pink lips parting under his.
There were painted nails digging in his shoulders, black curls clouding his vision… and his better judgment apparently.
So what? Honey and sweetness may not be for you to enjoy... you might as well…
Tom's heart thumped painfully hard in his chest and he released his grip on Walburga at once, pulling away as if he had just burned himself.
Shit. What… what was he thinking?! Why?
He looked up, Walburga was panting, leaning against the wall, her lips were swollen and she had an odd shocked expression that he couldn't quite, nor cared to, decipher right now.
Tom stiffly marched his way to the other side of the room. He needed space, room to breathe, he needed to move, he needed… much more space than he had right now. Needed to get out of there.
He snatched his shirt from the chair, slipping it quickly over his shoulders.
"Damn, you can kiss, Riddle…" Walburga laughed, "... you sure you want to stop there?"
"Let's get back to the dorms." There was an odd, unknown feeling building up in Tom's stomach.
He could sense his whole system over-reacting to it, trying to balance the unknown and uncertain new sensation with some more familiar and 'safe' rage instead.
He didn't like this. Didn't like this at all. What feeling was that? He couldn't place it. Couldn't figure it out, hence he started panicking.
He wanted to storm out, march upstairs and burst into Hermione's quarters.
He wanted to blame it all on her. Blame her for… for that something crushing his stomach right now, whatever that was, because it was obviously linked to her somehow… but how?
If only he could've kissed her right now. Erase the bitter taste of Walburga, erase the past minute or so.
He needed her, right now, needed to have her scream at him, yell at him. He wanted for Hermione to be mad, to make a scene.
God, he wanted to fuck her into the mattress, then fight some more… bury himself deep within her scent and then… He felt like crying.
What the hell was wrong with him?
Tom shook his head, buttoning his shirt up to his neck with meticulous movements, perhaps just to keep his hands busy.
"Ok, fine, as you wish, we'll go, calm down, I'm not going to bloody force you."
"I am perfectly calm." He snapped.
"You don't look calm ... what is it? 'wasn't even your first kiss… I don't think your teacher would even mind if…" But Walburga's giggle choked in the back of her throat and she fell to the ground, holding her head in her hands, squinting and moaning in pain.
"GET OUT! GET OUT OF MY HEAD! RIDDLE! GET OUT!"
"But you see, Black… I can't. It seems you have forgotten who's in charge here, so I don't think I'll be able to get out of there until I'll have it carved it into that little head of yours once and for all..."
"Sorry, sorry, sorrysorryI'msorry, please, I begyouplese! Argh ... noooo!"
That's why you shouldn't treat them as your equals, let it be a lesson, Tom sighed to himself, watching phlegmatically as Walburga folded in on herself screaming at the top of her lungs as he vented his frustration and anger on her.
"I said I'm fine." Tom scoffed in annoyance, trying again to grab her hand and failing. She could be quick when she wanted to. He groaned.
"And I said you look pale... maybe we should go to the infirmary, could it be your allergy?" Hermione frowned when he blocked her from placing her hand on his forehead, she snorted when he forced her fingers apart and wedged his between hers.
"Perhaps you're studying too much…? I know exams are nearing, but Tom, I've seen your grades, you have nothing to worry about ..." but he was already dragging her towards the park.
"I'm studying just the right amount."
"Are you eating enough? You should probably eat a bit more… Have you already found the secret passage to the kitchens? I shouldn't say, but it's the ..."
"The painting with the pears, yes I know, I'm eating just fine… will you…" Hermione dug her heels into the ground and forced him to stop.
Tom spun back around with a theatrical eye-roll and pursed his lips under her glare.
"You look like shit. And why are you wearing a scarf? I'm sweating and I'm wearing short sleeves under my robes… and why the hell are you wearing this one? Didn't you hate this scarf?"
"I'm fine! I do hate this scarf. I'm not even sure it deserves to be called that ... it's more like a lumpy blanket … and the color is just hideous. But you made it, didn't you?" He pouted.
Her glare didn't falter.
"It's nothing, I'm just… I… nothing, I felt like wearing a scarf, now shut up and let's go for a walk."
"HA! You were about to say something! Spill the tea!"
"Look, I only have an hour gap and you have two free periods, I checked, can we just spend some time together without… doing this?" he spat.
"Tom!"
"Hermione."
"I know something is not right… you'd never wear that otherwise…" She hissed narrowing her eyes at him and cocking her head.
"Fine, I'll count to three then I'll just go by myself… one… two…"
"Jeesh… you're stubborn. Okay, fine, let's go! Let go of my hand though, what if someone sees?" She snorted, trying to wriggle her hand free from his grip.
"What if?"
"What do you mean 'what if'? I can't bloody hold hands with students, can I?"
"I'm not 'students' though, am I?" He huffed.
"Just let go! I said I'm coming already!"
"Fine… hag! Go, walk by yourself…" He widened his fingers and wriggled his hand.
A grin spread on his lips when he noticed her fingers were still clasped tight around his palm and he raised his gaze to catch hers.
"I don't like it when you do that." She pouted.
"When I do what?"
"That… that thing you do to make me feel bad or… or like I'm the one being stupid when you are… it would be perfectly normal for me to not want to hold hands… whether you like it or not you're one of my students and…" a blush was creeping its way up her neck.
"So just let go then…" he challenged.
Her grip tightened, his grin grew wider.
"Well… now I just can't, can I?"
"Mh… and why is that?"
"Why… it feels like you'll win something if I let go now..." She frowned and bit her lips.
"You're just impossible, you know that, right?"
"Shuddup, brat."
"We going or what?" He pulled her slightly forward, expecting her to put up some more resistance, but she just followed and his heart swelled.
"Is there chocolate in that bag of yours?" Tom jutted his chin at the satchel hanging from her shoulder, and pulled at the scarf in an attempt to let some air through the thick wool layers as soon as she looked away.
This was sheer torture… he was drenched in sweat, though couldn't bring himself to take it off.
"Don't be silly," She snapped, "'course there's chocolate in my bag. What am I? Some kind of amateur?! Is there chocolate... tsk…"
Tom felt his eyelids get heavier and heavier, his mind lulled by the monotonous rhythm of the teacher's voice.
Abraxas, on his right, had already been asleep for a good ten minutes. Nott, on the left, was pinching his own wrists with the nib of his quill in a desperate attempt to keep himself awake.
Binns was going on and on about Witch Burnings in the 14th century and witch hunts with no enthusiasm whatsoever. He didn't even seem to have noticed that half the class was loudly snoring, the other half stifling yawns and wiping away tears .
Tom let his eyes meet those of a Ravenclaw girl from across the room. He smiled at her when she sheepishly waved a hand at him.
He looked away from the blushing beauty and met Rosier's deadpan expression. Tom offered a sly smile this time and she shook her head in mocking disbelief.
"Tease." she mouthed, Tom winked.
Tom was considering using that boring lesson to practice some Occlumency when the door to the classroom swung open, almost flying off its hinges.
"I'M NOT SNORING, YOU ARE!" Abraxas shouted, waking with a start, leaping to his feet and knocking down his inkwell and half of Mulciber's books in one fell swoop.
"Merlin's beard!" Binns snapped, clutching his chest with a shaky hand, clearly undecided as to whether he had been more frightened by the sudden intrusion of a very agitated Avery, or by the blond boy's sudden awakening.
Half of the class burst out in laughter.
Tom would've laughed too, hadn't he immediately caught Avery's worried gaze search for his own.
Nott must have noticed too, because by the time Binns managed to ask 'What in Merlin's sake had possessed Avery, for him to almost break the door down', the boy had finished slipping books and quills into both his and Tom's bags and was gesturing for Mulciber and Malfoy to do the same.
"ProfessorcanIborrowRiddleit'sanemergency?" Avery spoke so quickly that when he got to the end of the sentence he looked positively ready to pass out.
"Shut up everyone! I can't hear anything!" Binns muttered, indignant and confused by the howling laughter echoing around him, "What is it you need? A griddle?!"
"Riddle! Professor, can I borrow Mr. Riddle?"
"Why… why would you pull students out of my class, Mr. Avery?"
Avery didn't even try to hide his annoyance at the professor confusion. He let out a growl-like sound, similar to that of an impatient wild beast, then turned directly to Tom, ignoring Binns' glare.
"Riddle, that ... Gryffindor prank ..." the tall boy stammered, "Riddle, the prank turned quite ugly and things… they escalated very quickly ... we tried not to meddle but... She needs you, Riddle. Now."
"What do you mean 'it turned ugly'?!" Tom heard his voice as if coming from very far away, an alien sound, unrecognizable, way more high-pitched than he had intended for it to be.
"Riddle, you have to come downstairs, Professor Granger, she's in the infirmary and she won't calm down... I'll explain as we go."
"Infirmary? Professor Granger? You could've said that to begin with, boy!" Binns muttered, from somewhere in the background.
"When did a Boggart ever send someone straight to the Infirmary, Avery? What the hell are you raving about?" Barked Abraxas leapfrogging past his desk and then turning in shock at Tom's shocked stillness.
Tom saw the boy's lips moving but the sound wasn't coming through.
He felt dislocated from reality. Light years away from the classroom, away from the worried glances the students were exchanging around him. Far from whatever it was Malfoy was yelling now.
He couldn't feel his fingertips and his mouth was as dry as parchment.
Hermione was where? The infirm-what? Who ... how… who doesn't know how to deal with a fucking Boggart? Had he underestimated… what could've… Infirmary? What?!
Then suddenly the sounds around him burst through the barrier of his shock again and Abraxas's words hit him like punches in the guts.
"… the fuck, Riddle, you said she could handle herself! Oi! Wake up! Riddle! We have to go!"
"Mr. Malfoy, I won't tolerate such foul language in my class! I'm going to have to take point from…"
"RIDDLE! Pull yourself together! We need to go! Now!"
Hermione knew the one before her to be Harry Potter. She knew, although that looked nothing like the man.
In fact, it barely even looked like A man.
The creature standing before her looked much more like some kind of grotesque life-size puppet.
His body moved in little jerks and twitches, shadows of what had once been Harry's habits, the little hallmarks, signature moves, Hermione knew by heart, tiny details she had refused to forget.
Like the way he would constantly adjust the glasses on his nose or the way he would compulsively try to comb his hair with his fingers.
The movements were now a little rusty, maybe slightly exaggerated, a little out of sync, but they were still there.
His face was more of a sketch than a real face though. A recollection of his most characteristic features, flashing in sight every now and then.
Green eyes, a scar, glasses, they existed only momentarily in that blur of color that was his face.
"Why are you crying, Mione?"
Mione... right, that's what he used to call her, wasn't it? Though his voice… she wasn't quite sure that was how his voice sounded.
"I was scared, Harry. I was so scared. He was here again, he was right here!" she heard herself say, her voice a faraway echo in her mind, as a vivid image of Voldemort flashed before her eyes sending shivers down her spine.
"No. You're not scared. Not scared of him." Harry said matter-of-factly.
Hermione tried focusing on her former best friend's face, but the blur made it hard to figure out what kind of expression he was wearing.
Was he sad? Disappointed? Angry?
"Why… of course I was scared of him! I was terrified! He was just as pale… he was… his eyes … and then he… what happened then? I was… he was right here, Harry, and then?"
But Harry was shaking his head no, "You're not scared of him, Mione. You're not. You let him sleep in your bed, you hold his hand, you brush his hair and make his breakfast…"
"No, not Tom, Harry! I meant Voldemort! He was here! I thought… I thought we were talking about Voldemort!"
"We were."
It was Hermione's turn to shake her head no.
"No I… Tom… You don't understand. You can't! How could you understand? You don't know him, don't know us! You don't know what we've been through! None of you could even… you're just…"
"What about what we've been through? What about us, Hermione? Have you forgotten?"
"You don't get it. You're just memories, Harry, I can't… I can't protect memories of a time that is still to come! Tom is the now. Tom was the past ten years of my life. Tom needs me, Harry, he needs protection, from the same monster that you needed to…"
"HE IS THE MONSTER, 'MIONE."
"SHUT UP! Shut up, I can't think!"
And Harry did, he fell silent, at least for a while. Hermione looked around frowning in confusion. Why was she here? Where was here?
Voldemort, she had seen him... but it had happened somewhere else entirely, she was sure of that. What had happened next? Was she dead? She couldn't be dead. Who would take care of Tom?
No.
She didn't remember green lights, didn't remember a fight.
In fact, she wasn't even sure Voldemort had had a wand.
"Why are you crying, Hermione?"
"I… don't… I don't know, ok?! I… Voldemort he was here and I was scared and then…"
"Was it something he said, 'Mione? Why are you crying?"
Hermione took a step back. Her heart was racing now and she wasn't sure she liked Harry's attitude. His words were teasing something within the depths of her mind, something she had a feeling would be best not to face right now.
"What did he say? He did say something, he did…" Hermione stared blankly into the nothingness. She couldn't remember clearly. Every time her mind edged too close to what she was trying to recollect, her head would spin dangerously fast, making it impossible to focus.
He had smiled at her.
He's mine. I won. He'll never be rid of me. You won't see him again.
Hermione gripped her chest with both her hands and she squeezed her eyes shut.
"Why are you cr…"
"I can't… I don't have time to do this. I need to go, Harry, I need to go."
"You're choosing him over us... you've forgotten all about us. We used to hold hands in our sleep, remember? You loved us. Are we not friends anymore? Are our lives not worth fighting for anymore?"
"No! I'd... I'd never... I... Of course I…" Hermione stammered and sobbed loudly, "Harry I can't be here, now, this is not the time. Why am I here, Harry? I need... I need to find him! Voldemort... he found us, Harry! I have to protect him! I have to go!" Hermione spun around, trying to understand, but her mind was just blur and chaos and she was growing more scared, more anxious.
"Why are you crying?" Hermione glanced back, but Harry's face was even more blurred now than it had been before.
She could barely make out the green of his eyes in that odd mashup of colors and shapes that he was turning into.
She'd been looking for Tom... where was Tom? She needed to make sure he was fine! She needed to protect him! She couldn't waste time talking to faded memories!
"That's all we are now to you, is it? Faded memories... you've forgotten of how many people he killed... you can't see his true nature anymore. He's gotten under your skin, he's using you, he'll consume you, he'll take everything from you and then…"
But Hermione ignored those bitter words, she spun around again. She needed to find a way out, but her surroundings were unclear and she couldn't figure out how she'd gotten there in the first place.
"Why are you crying?"
"Stop asking that! I'm… I'm not… Why? Why am I crying? I'm worried… Perhaps I'm worried he might hurt Tom! Tom?" She called tentatively, but her voice was lost in the dark void surrounding them.
"Tom... is that how you call him? No, Hermione, it's Lord Voldemort, isn't it? You might as well call him that now. Will you take his mark when he'll ask you to?" Harry mocked, though his voice was a mix of many voices now.
Ron, Tonks, Ginny, Fred, George, Harry, Sirius…
"Harry he is different! He is… Oh Harry he is so sweet and so kind. Harry, he's so smart and talented and… he… you don't even know and… Voldemort, he's not…" Hermione turned to glance over her shoulders, as if expecting Voldemort to be standing there, laughing at the scene. He wasn't.
"Voldemort was here, he was... Harry, he did say something! He threatened to hurt him! I have to find Tom!"
"No, Hermione... open your eyes... that's not what happened. You used to be so smart, so smart… and now? Now you're lying to yourself. You're lying to yourself and soon he'll kill, you know he will... what will you do then? Will you still pretend everything is fine? Will you let him murder my mom, Mione? Will you let him step over my father's corpse? Is that somehow ok with you now?"
"SHUT UP! SHUT UP! You don't know him, you don't... understand! He's not him! He's not him! Shut up! TOM! TOM, WHERE ARE YOU!?"
"Hermione, why were you crying?"
"He threatened to… I can't let him hurt Tom! Can't… give up on him, Harry, I can't."
"WHY ARE YOU CRYING?"
Harry's words bounced in her mind like pebbles bouncing off the water of a dark lake. Why was she crying?
She hadn't been afraid of Voldemort.
Voldemort had laughed. He had threatened to take Tom. But she hadn't cried then. When had she started crying? What had happened next? Where was Voldemort?
"'Mione, call his name."
"What?"
"I'll let you go back if you do, I'll let you find him. Just admit it to yourself... call his name, Mione."
"I don't understand?! Why are you being so... odd!? Tom? Where is Tom, Harry, you know where he is, you... we have to find him! Please, for me, Harry. Tom?"
"Call him, Hermione. Call his name, I'll let you go, but you have to say it out loud, you have to. Which one is it? Which one is the right name? Is it Tom? Is it Lord Voldemort? Or..."
"I... Harry, I'm sorry! I'm so sorry, I'm doing my best, I'll save him! I swear I'll save him... save YOU! I'll save all of you! But I have to go, Harry, let me go!"
"Just say it, Mione. You know what his name is to you, in your heart you know. You know where you stand."
"I... Tom?" Hermione's chest felt heavy, she tightened her grip on it.
Her heart thumped slow and heavy against her hand. She looked down, her fingers were so pale in that darkness. When she raised her gaze again Harry was not where she had left him.
Creepy puppet-Harry was standing right behind her now. So close she felt lips brush her earlobe as it spoke.
"Why were you crying? What happened Hermione? It's not what he said. What happened next? Call his name."
Hermione pulled away from Harry's voice with an horrified cry but when she spun around she was alone, alone in the dark.
Nothing made sense, nothing made sense, why was she crying? Maybe she was going crazy. Her heart leapt in her throat and she felt herself sobbing harder.
His name, call his name. Not Lord Voldemort, no.
"My love? Where are you, my love?"
Hermione woke up to the sound of crying.
It took her a while to figure out the one crying was her. She sighed and sobbed and hiccupped softly, until her brain regained enough consciousness to shake her strange dream into oblivion.
Mint, chocolate and something familiar, something homey, sweet, warm and heartening, enveloped her every sense then.
Instinctively she pressed her face deeper into the solid chest she was resting against, her hands immediately tightening into the fabric of a shirt, pulling it closer, as close as she could.
Home. Safe. We are safe. Love of mine, we're safe. He won't have you. Not now. Not ever.
The words buzzed in her mind over and over, she found the mantra to be just as calming as his scent.
It was suddenly essential, she decided, that she'd be able to see him too.
So, struggling more than she thought she'd need to, Hermione began working on prying her eyes open.
"Malfoy?" The voice came in a whisper, but it reverberated in the rib cage she was currently pressed against, and it spread inside her, bringing another wave of relief to relax her aching muscles, "Malfoy, I think she's waking up! Go get the nurse!"
There came the sound of a chair scraping against the floor and then footsteps, a door, and then silence again.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry... I should've been there... I'm so sorry, Hermione... I didn't think you'd... I'm so sorry, my love, shhh... it's fine. I'm here now."
"'om?"
"Yes, my love, yes, It's me. It's… It's Tom."
His voice.
Hermione wanted to bathe in that voice.
She wanted to press herself harder against it.
She wanted to rub that voice into the pain in her chest as if it had been a calming balm, a healing ointment she had longed for way too long already.
He was fine. He was here. He was safe.
Finally her eyelids came unstuck. The room was dimly lit, but it still took Hermione several quick blinks to be able to bring his snow-gray eyes, into focus.
So shamefully stunning.
"Hey..." his smile was timid, more sad and tense than he had probably intended for it to be.
"Hey..." Her voice was hoarse and it scratched her throat painfully, "you ok?"
She made an effort to ask it out loud anyway, because it was crucial that he confirmed it for her right now.
Tom's eyes searched for something in hers, then he nodded.
"I'm fine, I... Hermione... oh, God, you scared the shit out of me... I was so worried and... what would I do if you ...? I... please... never again, my love, never again!"
It was like watching a mask break all at once.
Suddenly Tom's snowy eyes melted into tears, and his large hands trembled like a child's, cupping her face ever so delicately, as if she were the most precious thing on the face of the Earth.
Hermione imitated the movement without even thinking about it. She took his face in her hands and wiped a fat tear away with her thumb.
"What? What happened, love of mine? Why are you crying?" A strange bell rang within her brain as she whispered those words with as much voice as she could gather at the moment, which was not much, but he heard her anyway.
"You don't remember?" His eyes widened allowing more tears to spill and land onto Hermione's hand and straight into the pillow.
Hermione stopped to think about it, then shook her head in the negative.
Her memories were all muddled, plus the Calming Draught they must have dosed her with was doing a great job of preventing her from putting the puzzle pieces back together. All she knew was she had been terrified and worried to death and then knocked out of consciousness, something about a dream, something sad.
"You were mid-class, fifth year, a Slytherin-Gryffindor double. You remember that?" he asked, moving a little closer and placing his forehead against hers.
"Yes, I think I do ... we were working on Vanishing Spells... I remember that." Hermione frowned, "But then… someone… something… screaming." Hermione frowned.
"Gryffindors, my love, they… it was supposed to be a prank. Some bullshit payback for being a thousand times better than fucking Dumbledore is..."
"Tom..." She tried to sound authoritative but her voice wavered and vanished scraping against her aching vocal cords. She must've been screaming quite a lot. The mere thought made her blush a little.
"Anyway, they released a Boggart mid-class. You don't remember that part?"
New tears spilled from his eyes and Hermione tightened her grip on his face.
Fuck. A Boggart. Voldemort. It couldn't have turned into anything else.
"... what happened next?"
Tom sniffled and paused to release a shaky breath.
It was only then that Hermione realized just how hot he felt against her.
The fever, the crying, the shaking.
Hermione would have joined the dots first had she not been so dazed by the Calming Draught.
He was in the midst of a nervous breakdown, feverish, sweaty, at the mercy of his own raging and confused emotions.
Hermione felt herself dying of guilt. He must have been terrified. They were in the infirmary, it must have been the middle of the night too, at least judging by the candlelight, the silence and the fact that the nurse wasn't already there. How many hours had he spent lying next to her? How long had she let him simmer in his worry? Alone. She had left him alone.
Hermione began rocking him steadily, in an attempt to calm him down. She held him closer, dearly, softly, as if to prevent him from crumbling into pieces right there and then.
"It turned ... it turned into ... Orion said it was some kind of man but ... pale and scary and bold... he had no nose but two slits in its place and… he spoke."
Hermione felt her mouth go dry but she forced herself to speak while caressing Tom's wet cheeks.
"Shhh, it's ok. I'm fine. I'm here. What did he say? What did the monster say, love of mine?" She whispered.
Tom's eyes darted into hers, he released a small sigh and bit his bottom lip.
"He said he got me. He said he got me and you would never see me again. And then, then he slumped to the ground as if he were ... dead."
Hermione continued to stare at Tom, his eyes traveling from her eyes to her lips, searching for something.
Hermione felt her own blood chill in her veins and she had to make a huge effort not to let too much of her horror leak out, as fragments of a confused dream suddenly came to her mind, blending in with memories from a past life.
It's not what he said. Said Harry. Why are you crying?
The Elder Wand flew high as the one who had held it up to a moment ago fell backwards and crashed on the cold stone floor.
Evil himself died before them, with the same banality of a pigeon crashing into the glass of a skyscraper. It was almost disappointing.
He had died.
She remembered it now, vividly. The Boggart. She remembered raising her eyes from her desk and finding herself staring at it.
The creature had predictably turned into Lord Voldemort, she hadn't even flinched then. It had threatened her and still, she had been about to just mutter the counter-spell and take a few points from Gryffindor. But then… He had died. Voldemort. No. Tom Riddle. He had died just like he had died on May 2nd 1998. Only then had Hermione started screaming. She had lost it.
What about us? You know where you stand. You know it, in your heart.
"Walburga said… she said everyone thought you had killed the Boggart with a non-verbal but... but then you started screaming. You wouldn't stop screaming you were like hysterical... and nobody was helping you and it's ... it's all my fault ... and I didn't know that ... I didn't think that ... I'm sorry!"
Hermione blinked several times and she leaned away slightly, to have a better view of his face. His nose was red and his eyes red-rimmed too. His fault? What did he… there was no way he'd know about…?
"What ... what are you talking about, Tom? How can this be your fault? I ... should be ashamed! Having a nervous breakdown over a Boggart?! That was silly of me…"
"But… I knew it... I knew it would have happened, I knew about the prank!" Hermione had to resist the urge to take a relieved breath at those words, of course he couldn't have known about Voldemort, "I told everyone not to intervene! I ... You kept screaming my name and I wasn't there and I told everyone not to help! What if something happened to you?! It would've been all my fault and…" He shook so hard the whole bed shook with him.
"Shhh don't say that!" Hermione pulled him closer to her and he let her. She would have had to worry about how her entire system of values and morals had shifted, later on.
Right now, this boy desperately needed her.
His head bent and he hid in the crook of her neck. His voice tickled her neck when he spoke again.
"There is this feeling… I don't… I can't handle it. What is it? It is crushing me, what is it?"
"What feeling?" she asked in little more than a whisper. His hair tickling her face.
"It is crushing me, inside. Here." His hand took Hermione's wrist and guided her hand just above his stomach, "And here." the hand guided hers over his heart, "It's like ... it's like a vise, it tightens around and I ... I can't breathe."
"Concern?" Hermione suggested, "I'm fine, Tom. It was a silly accident, I swear. It will take something more than a Boggart to take me down for good..."
He was silent for a while longer before speaking again.
"No. I… It started earlier."
"Earlier, today?" She asked pressing softly against his pounding heart.
His head shook no.
Hermione removed her hand from his chest to stroke his curls away from her eyes.
She sighed and rested her chin on his head, breathing in his scent deeply.
"It started a while ago ... today... it just grew stronger." Tom's lips brushed against her jugular as he spoke, sending goosebumps all over her neck and shoulders. Hermione didn't move away, too entranced by his smell, by the beating of his heart against her own, by his large hand drawing eight figures on her back now.
"Mh… sounds like you may be feeling guilty?"
Hermione heard him swallow loudly, then, reluctantly, he nodded.
"Maybe. Maybe I feel guilty, yes." Guilt mh?
"I told you, it's not your fault. How could you have known I'd be so scared of a stupid Boggart?"
There was another short pause.
"Something else happened..." He muttered, "I don't want to talk about it. It makes me more uncomfortable when I think about it. Squeezes my guts…"
Hermione smiled to herself.
He couldn't recognize them all, but he had all this different feelings now, and he seemed to be trying to work his way through them, to learn, evolve.
You will not have him, she found herself thinking, no one will have him as long as I am here to protect him.
Tom was not the monster, no matter what her memories thought. The monster wasn't there. It wasn't going to be either.
If anything, the world was the real monster, the circumstances were monsters, and she would face them for Tom. She would have made a difference. Anything. She would have done anything.
Mine. Hissed a voice in the far back of her mind. He is mine.
Why are you crying?
Truth was, Hermione wouldn't have limited herself to crying if Voldemort were to die now, not if Voldemort had anything to do with Tom Riddle still, even just partially.
This was no longer a timeline in which Hermione could have watched Voldemort's body collapse backwards and just cease being. Not without losing her mind over it. Not without wanting to tear her own heart out of her chest.
"I'm sure you're worrying over nothing, love of mine." Love of mine, because that was just the right name to call him, "You couldn't have done anything that bad."
Hermione resumed rocking him gently, his temperature had already gone down a tad.
She froze as his lips pressed against her throat more firmly than before.
He placed three sloppy kisses on her neck, trailing up, three more moving up to her jaw, one on her cheek and one corner of her mouth. She moved then, tilting her head back.
Tom paused, his eyes locked into hers.
"I love you, so much ... so much." he whispered against her lips, "I ... I don't want anyone else ... I don't want to touch anyone else. Don't want to be… touched. No one but you."
Hermione felt her cheeks catch fire but she forced herself to hold his gaze.
"Has anyone done something to you, Tom? Has someone ... touched you against your will? You can tell me, you know that right? I ..." But he pressed his lips against hers, a chaste, soft, delicate kiss, more aimed at silencing her than to anything else. Soft. Warm. Chocolaty.
"Tom? Did someone do something to you?" she asked forcing her focus on the main topic of concern there.
Tom bit his lower lip and seemed to be struggling with something.
"The truth, Tom. Now." She ordered.
"I ... it was my fault... It wasn't… I kinda did it and then I ... I wish I hadn't done it... here it is, again, see?! It is stabbing me here." Hermione looked down at his hand, clutched against his chest.
"So ... you made out with someone ... and you feel guilty? Was that why you were acting all weird last week? All those walks and the scarf…" Hermione couldn't help but chuckle, "You really are a drama queen, Tom Riddle... "
But when their eyes locked again, there was no trace of amusement in his gaze and her smile faltered.
"I want to kiss you. I want you to want to kiss me… I… anyone else won't do. I knew already. I just knew. God, I want you so much sometimes… you don't know how frustrating it is to think that you will never…"
Hermione leaned forward and placed a kiss on his lips.
The kiss was as light as the one he had placed on hers just a moment earlier.
It was quick and chaste, and slightly odd because he had been talking when she had leaned in. It had been a kiss nonetheless, there was no going back from that.
When Hermione pulled away Tom was looking at her with huge eyes, his lips still slightly parted.
"Here, all clean. You have been sanitized. Enough of the guilt."
He blinked. Was he even breathing? She had broken him, hadn't she?
"So… where is the nurse? I might just discharge myself if she's going to take much longer…" She was horrible at feigning nonchalance, wasn't she?
Hermione pinned herself up on one elbows to look around the dim-lit infirmary, while her cheeks and neck caught fire under Tom's shocked gaze.
"Hermione…"
"What time is it anyway? How long have I slept?"
"I ... did you just…? Was that a k…"
"Don't be silly, it was just a kiss ... it's not like ... I hit you or something." She grinned, quoting his own words against him.
"Aren't you… I don't know… mad at me or something?" He sounded almost disappointed.
"Why… well you've spent quite some time punishing yourself anyway and… and then today ... it must not have been easy for you and I… I told you I wasn't jealous, didn't I?"
A mischievous light shone in Tom's eyes and he bit his lower lip again.
"Now, where is my wand?"
He kept staring at her intently.
It was really shameful that he could be just so handsome all the time. Even when he had been crying until moments ago he still looked just as perfect as ever… not fair…
"Stop staring at me ... with that face ..." Hermione muttered sitting up and straightening her back.
"What a face?" he pressed his lips together to keep from smiling and propped himself up on his elbow, bringing his face closer to hers once more.
"That face..." Hermione diverted her gaze.
"Oh, you mean the face of someone wondering how a witch of your level got fooled by a Boggart?"
"Don't you dare! Tom Riddle! I was obviously caught off…"
"Too scared the monster would steal me away, mh?" a smirk slowly took shape on that sinfully beautiful mouth of his, a mouth she had just definitely claimed for herself.
What the hell had gotten into her, by the way?!
I love you so much. So much. The words kept ringing in her ears. Only you. I want you to want to kiss me. The prat. He was getting under her skin, there was no denying that.
Hermione covered her face with both hands, groaning.
"I was afraid he'd return you, actually!" she grumbled.
"You're a shitty liar ... and a duffer ... seriously, a Boggart!? I risked losing you to a Boggart!? You really are Riddikulus..." he laughed, "No, no, don't try to hide that duffer face of yours now!" his hands got ahold of her wrists and he fought to force them apart.
"Tom! Let go of me, we'll fall! I swear, if I fall and break my neck….!"
"As if a bald, noseless monster could ever hurt me!" He scoffed.
"I'll kick you if you don't let go! I'll kick you and I'll show you how even a girl can hurt you just right if..."
"What did you say?" Tom yelled, using his core to tilt himself up and against her. Hermione fell backwards with a small squeal.
They sunk deeper into the mattress and Tom finally managed to force her hands away from her face, helping himself with his own face, while holding her wrist with his hands.
A fit of giggles bubbled up from the bottom of Hermione's belly at the sight of his messy hair. Tom leaned in closer, yelling in her face, "What was it?! You need DADA private lessons? Oh, well, I don't know that I will have the time for that, I'm a very busy man after all..."
"Yeah," Hermione spat through laughter, "My bad! I should've know Mr. Kissing Booth would be too busy making out with the remaining half of the castle now!"
"How dare you!? It was just one girl! That's it! I'm not telling you anything anymore! And I refuse to feel guilty ever again! In fact, I could easily live without this feeling… you can have it!"
Hermione laughed at that.
"I may have been fooled by a Boggart but you spent a week torturing yourself for such nonsense! Who's the duffer now? I can't believe you even forced yourself to wear that hideous scarf!"
"I can't hear you over the sound of your crying for me! Toom! Where is my Tom?!"
"Hottest week ever and you were walking around in a wool scarf? I knew something was wrong! Who was the girl?"
"I'm not telling you! Exams are approaching, I don't want to be the cause of anyone's low grades!"
"I would never! How dare you even think… OH!"
Hermione felt her head and shoulders slide over the edge of the bed.
She shrieked and her legs wrapped around Tom's waist.
Shock and surprise crossed his face and his eyes widened as she almost succeeded in pulling him down with her. Then, luckily, his instinct kicked in, Tom pinned his knees into the mattress and moved his weight backwards, regaining balance and successfully stopping them from plummeting down onto the stone floor.
"Tom! NO, no! Seriously now, seriously! TOM! WE WILL FALL! PULL ME UP!"
"SO BE IT! Might knock some sense into that duffer head 'f yours!"
"Nononono! Tom, that tickles! NOO!"
"The spell, Hermione, what's the spell? Rid...?"
"This is Riddikulus!" she huffed amidst hysterical laughter.
"Good gir…"
A sudden light blinded them. Hermione gasped. Tom stiffened above her.
"Mr. Riddle… Mrs. Granger ... I ... well I guess I'm glad you're feeling better." Mrs. Byrne stood under the door, slight disbelief painted on her round face, as she watched Hermione's half-length dangle off the bed and the other half clinging to a disheveled Tom Riddle.
Behind the woman, an amused Abraxas Malfoy was clearly struggling to decide where it would be safe to lay his eyes.
I don't know about you all, but I like how Tom is like a completely different person when he's messing with Hermione. I like how he can be his murderous-psycho-self when he deals with his 'friends' and then just turn into a mush when he's with her lol
Let me know what you think!
Love,
M.